Unrealisation
by GreenEyedVixen
Summary: Hermione discovers lip-gloss, amongst other things.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just a little one shot that I wrote to clear my mind and to trial a first person narrative. A more introverted Hermione, with a few issues and a dry sense of humour. :p**

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I want to get one thing straight.

Hermione Granger is not a bookworm. I mean, I, Hermione Granger, am not a bookworm.

I really am just naturally smart. What's it called? Ah yes, I have a photographic memory.

I have a habit of referring to myself in the third person, my mother especially thought it was strange growing up when I would tell her that, 'no, Hermione was not in her room, and would like to be left alone.' It never worked of course. Well, she still thinks it's strange, so I should probably not discuss it like it is a thing of the past.

It follows with; Hermione Granger no longer has a crush on Ron Weasley. After spending the summer with him, any feelings once harboured are _long_ gone. Talk about chivalry being dead. Get a bunch of boys together in one room, and the female species become the object of much crude discussion.

Oh, and the toilet humour. Will that ever stop? This is the first chance I've had away from them. Hear that serenity? Bliss.

This leads me to my next point of correction.

I, Hermione Granger, am female. I know, this is not something I should have to draw attention to, but hanging around a bunch of guys during my adolescent years has had some lingering side effects.

Well, more than some.

I am sick of being one of the boys.

I _really_ do like girly things. There are exceptions to the rule of course, like Witch Weekly, wearing lipstick, brooding over boys, and wearing jewellery - because things around my neck give me this feeling of suffocation.

Forget it.

Hermione Granger _wants_ to be more girly. Although, I henceforth have no intention of entertaining silly and pointless crushes. Ugh! If hanging out with boys has had any influence, I want to just get some and move on. Who needs feelings? Look at where they got me with Ron.

Nowhere.

He still sees me as one of the boys.

Girly things I do like? Well, mascara, underwear - I am obsessed with buying underwear, checking out hot guys, baking cakes…kidding. Hmmm, I need some more filler.

If I were a man I would be a sleaze.

"Oi, Granger!" I must have been staring out the window as I hear the echo of an annoying voice. I turn my head to face the intruder, and my theory is realised.

Speak of the devil.

"I heard you, Malfoy," I glare at him, while checking him out at the same time. He is looking mighty fine this year. Too bad I hate him, those feelings getting in the way again.

"McGonagall wants to see us," he spits out, like the inclusive reference is causing him chest pain.

"Whatever," I stand up and walk out of the compartment, following him silently. More like following his arse. He might be a Slytherin son of a death eater, but hey, I can look right?

A very nice arse.

I don't see him stop, and in the next moment my head has hit his shoulder.

Shit.

He turns and looks at me like I have a special problem. Well at least he doesn't think I'm a bookworm. I merely shrug, not wishing to apologise to the likes of _him_.

Anyway, his shoulder got in the way of _my_ nose.

Bastard.

He opens the compartment and I follow him in. Professor McGonagall is poised and austere. She looks up at us with her straight face.

It is so misleading.

"Hello Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy," she finally smiles. "I would like to congratulate you on your Head positions. I know you will both lead the school body through a successful year."

"Thanks, Professor," I reply. As if anyone else was going to get Head Girl? I bet Malfoy is thinking the same thing. I hear him mumble something akin to a 'thankyou' but I'm too busy playing with my head badge.

"Now, I will give you each a standard copy of the school rules, and your duties. You will meet with me fortnightly, and with the Prefects every other week. Here is the list of their names to assist you with delegating patrols times and projects." I take a copy to add it to the other pile of parchment in my hand.

"You are both privileged with your own dormitory so you will be in each others company constantly. I expect you both to act responsibly and respect each other as colleagues. Please see me after dinner and I will take you to your new rooms."

I nod, thinking of something about Malfoy that I could respect.

There it is again.

His arse.

I really am a sleaze. Just haven't acted on it yet.

"That will be all. I will see you both later."

"Thankyou, Professor," I turn and walk out before Malfoy. I don't want to be distracted by his arse anymore, it might cause _me_ angina.

I head back to my compartment, plonk myself down in a very unladylike fashion, whilst scratching my hip where the tag of my shirt is causing an itch, and undo my tie. It is _way_ too early for discomfort. I really wish I had my old jeans and a t-shirt on right now.

I hear the compartment door open again. Can't one be alone with her thoughts?

"What?" I exhale not looking at the intruder.

"Thought you might want some company." I turn to see Ginny, and suddenly feel guilty for my outburst. "I'm sick of hanging around the boys."

"Oh, yeah, sure." I encourage, smiling. She comes over and sits opposite me. At least one of us is oozing femininity, with her long wavy auburn hair. She pulls out her lip gloss and starts applying it. I watch her; she always overdoes it to the point of amusement. It is starting to pool there is so much there. If anyone tried to kiss her, they would get stuck. She laughs, I laugh too.

"No wonder you go through lip-gloss so quickly. Maybe you should just use a balm or something; it can't be good for you." She licks her lips a little to settle them. They are ridiculously shiny and pink and plump.

She hands it to me. I shake my head. I hate the feeling of gunk on my lips. Lip balm is sufficient for my purposes.

"C'mon, you never wear any. It'll look good." she dangles the tube in front of me in an attempt to entice me further.

What the hell.

I take it. She seems to do a little dance in her seat from the excitement. I roll my eyes as I apply it. It feels weird on my lips and I press them together. They almost stay in position, returning to their relaxed state _very_ slowly.

"Ugh, how can you wear this, it's so gooey."

"It's looks good!"

"It tastes bad!" I keep pressing my lips together, now I can see the appeal.

"Stop that, it won't last."

"Who says I want it to?" I manage as I mould my lips together. She sends me a reprimanding look and takes it back from me.

The compartment door opens again.

What is with the interruptions?

Ginny reacts before I do. I can see her shooting death stares.

It's Malfoy.

He is staring at my lips strangely. I fight the urge to wipe them.

"What?" I let out.

"Don't you read, Granger?" He dangles the manual Professor McGonagall gave us. Mine is lying abandoned on the seat next to me.

"What about it, Malfoy."

"We need to meet with the Prefects, allocate which year level they have to baby-sit to the castle," his tone impatient and patronising.

"Fine," I give Ginny an apologetic look.

"Sorry to interrupt your kissing games Weasel," he taunts.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she retorts maliciously, crossing her arms and sitting back.

He scoffs and turns on his heel.

"I'll see ya later, Gin," I re-assure and head out after him, taking my manual with me and straightening my tie in the process. I am so annoyed with myself for getting distracted by lip-gloss, but can't help pursing my lips together as I stare at his arse, which is leading me to the back of the train.

He stops again suddenly yet I am so bloody daft, I find my nose colliding into his shoulder again. Its hurts like hell this time. Is that lip gloss on his jumper?

"Granger, what is your problem?" He turns and glares at me, rubbing his shoulder this time. As if that hurt!

"It's not my fault you jolt rather than slow down," I defend. Stupid distracting arse with its perfect roundness. I really was walking a little too close this time. I touch my nose delicately, relieved to find it intact.

There's that look again.

"Keep your distance, Granger. It's bad enough we have to share living quarters."

"It's a lot worse for me," I don't really know what I mean by that but I just shove past him to get on with it. The prefects are waiting in the back compartment, causing a raucous. Who named _them_ Prefect?

No one even notices when I enter. Not even Ron.

"Hello!" I try to grab their attention.

One of the Hufflepuff prefects looks at me and shrugs. I want to scream a series of profanities.

Malfoy walks in behind me. I turn around, eyeing him expectantly to do something like a good Head boy; he smirks and leans against the door.

Did I mention he was a right bastard?

I walk over to Ron and shove him.

"Owww," he actually has the nerve to complain.

That's it. I've had enough.

I pull out my wand; hold it against my neck and my voice booms through the room.

"Oi!"

They all shield their ears, and look at me dumbstruck. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini glare at me and keep talking. At least the others have shut-up.

I stare back at Malfoy, waiting for him to do something about his lot.

He walks over to her and kisses her on the lips. She squeals and hugs him.

Spew.

Pansy with her kissable lips has shut up.

Zabini turns away in distaste. At least he's on my wavelength.

He catches my eye, and smirks.

He then openly checks out Padma standing next to me. If he wasn't a pureblood Slytherin, he'd be a cad. But he gets away with it, and Padma is batting her eyelashes back at him like she's got something in her eye. Yes, I am secretly jealous.

Of Padma, naturally, but I'm also jealous of Blaise. He gets to be a sleaze. You know how I feel about that whole issue.

"So, why are we here Hermione?" Padma turns and asks me when she is done.

"Ask Malfoy," I indirectly delegate, too pre-occupied with my thoughts.

"Draco," she practically cooes, "Hermione would like to know why we are here?"

Bitch.

His arm is around Pansy's waist and they are both looking at me like I am some untamed beast. My hair must be a dead give away. I just flung it up and somehow wrapped an elastic around some of it. I can't even begin to describe its state. Apathy has washed over me like you wouldn't believe. I stare back at them blankly.

Despite everything, Malfoy is compelled to answer, now that Padma has asked so nicely. I inwardly laugh and the show goes on. Before I know it, everything has been sorted.

That was just a tease. As if I would let Malfoy take control! But I'll let him think he's holding the baton, for now.

Ron walks out with me, I am still pursing my lips together, but the lip-gloss has mostly absorbed. He is so much taller than me; I can remember when we were the same height.

"Do you want anything to eat?" he asks as the trolley approaches.

"No, you go ahead," I wait for him as he deliberates over purchases. I check out his arse, it's not as good as Malfoy's, but he has nice arms. He hands me a chocolate frog anyway.

It's the nicest thing he has done all summer. "Thanks."

"Harry's up the other end. Where are you and Ginny sitting?" I point in the direction as I bite into my chocolate.

"I'll come over a bit later," I say, with no intention of doing so. I just want me time. He shrugs and walks ahead sending me a wave from behind.

Some first years are fighting in the corridor. Reluctantly, I walk over and see what the problem is.

"Don't you have compartments to sit in?" I ask. A couple of boys are arguing about something I don't want to know about. They stop and look at me, their eyes suspicious. I point to my head badge to set them straight. Their eyes widen in horror.

How cute.

"Wow, are you the Head Girl?" the one on the right asks, his eyes lighting up. I nod, remembering how I felt about seeing the Head Girl in my first year. It's almost touching.

"I hate Gryffindor, I'm going to be in Slytherin!" the other one announces, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Yes, you probably are," I respond. I want to tousle his hair, just to annoy him.

"My dad says Slytherins are bad, is that true?" the first one turns to ask me.

"They are not!" the one with his arms crossed cuts in. Great, a bunch of first years and the house rivalry has already begun. I sigh with resignation and formulate my diplomatic response.

"Some Slytherins are bad, but your house doesn't determine if you are a good or bad person," I hear myself say, not believing a single word.

The questioner ponders my wise words while the other one is not convinced. He's definitely a Slytherin.

"The Head Boy is a Slytherin, so he _must_ be good and smart," he concludes, looking at me for validation.

Again I want to tousle his hair and say, 'there, there, all will be realised in time,' but I respond, "I suppose he is then." They both walk away satisfied.

My work is done. I experience the satisfaction of a politician who has said nothing, but implied everything.

"So, you think I'm good and smart, Granger?" I freeze and prepare to glare as I turn to face the intruder.

Deny, deny, deny.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," I retort. He is looking at me with vague intrigue.

I can't help glancing at his lips. You can tell he's had a make-out session, they are blood red. His mouth curls into a smirk and he leans against the corridor wall, blocking my path.

"Do you mind getting out of my way?" I purse my lips involuntarily this time, and place a hand on my hip to express my irritation. 'Implications are as good as admissions, Hermione,' I mentally reproach.

"There's just a little thing we have to clear up first, Granger," he states.

"And what would that be?" I snap.

He pushes off the hallway wall and opens the nearest compartment, gesturing me in. "Head business," he directs. I stare at him, irate and puzzled.

Suddenly I feel like a suspicious first year.

"C'mon, Granger," he demands.

"Fine," I huff and enter. He follows. I immediately turn around, not wanting my back to face him, for fear of unexpected hexes coming my way.

"Well?" I snap.

He is scrutinizing me. I start back at him, he is as tall as Ron, his body is leaner, but his shoulders are broader. Yes, I am openly checking out Malfoy again but this time I am being too obvious.

He smirks.

"Granger, if we are going to be working _and_ living together, I can't have you carrying on like that?"

I am momentarily perplexed.

"What?" dismiss.

He takes a few steps closer. I'm thinking this might have something to do with my delegating of explanatory obligations? I shrug unable to come to a resolution mentally.

I focus back on him and realise he is mere inches from me. I take a few steps back involuntarily. Must keep a safe distance, and all.

He steps forward again. Oh, so it's a game? Count me out, I hate playing games.

"Malfoy, what is this about?" I command sternly. I am the Head girl after all.

"It's okay for me, Granger, you're not _girly_ enough for my liking," he offers, staring at my hair.

Thanks for pointing out the obvious, but what the hell are you talking about?

"But, I can see you are going to have issues living with me, so let's get it all out of the way."

Huh? He steps forward again; I step back in synch but come to an undeniable halt as my foot hits something and my back hits the window.

"I'm doing you a favour, Granger," he says, and then his lips are on mine, and his hand is on the back of my neck holding me in place. My eyes widen in surprise as my hands hit the window behind me.

And then I realise, _his_ eyes are closed. Malfoy is kissing me with his eyes closed.

That's all it takes, and I find myself responding, hesitantly at first, until he licks my bottom lip.

There goes my lip gloss. But, that unusual thought soon evaporates from my mind as his tongue makes its way into my mouth and I am pleasantly surprised.

My hand unglues itself from the cool window and comes up to his cheek. He reacts to the cold as I hear him inhale but he doesn't pull back.

There we are, Head Girl and Head Boy, Gryffindor and Slytherin, kissing. I am still not clear why such a full throttle approach has been taken here.

'Now arriving at Hogwarts,' blares through the overhead speaker.

He pulls away, letting go of his hold on my neck. I let my hand fall away.

"Later, Granger," is all he says, he winks and walks out, leaving me with my thoughts and my freshly kissed lips.

I am very jealous of Malfoy right now. _I _want to be a sleaze.

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A/N: LOL! It could probably develop into something but I have two other stories to focus on for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**I have revisited this as an outlet from my study and work which is driving me up the wall! Seriously, there is no fun in homework, or employment. Bah! A few people have wanted me to continue this, and I suddenly felt the urge to write a follow up for this story.  
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**Tis very different from my other stories, but I hope you enjoy this little bit of escapism...**

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There comes a point in one's life when all bets are off.

It has been two months since we arrived back at Hogwarts and every single day, my practiced indifference is slipping. I don't know how much longer I can take it; act as if nothing happened, as if he never cornered me into a compartment and kissed the living daylights out of me.

Malfoy.

The sleaze did it on purpose.

And, it worked.

I am constantly distracted. So much so, my grades have started to slip. Don't get me wrong, they're still great, but last week, I received my first 'A'. Ron and Harry knew better though and sought to corner me in the library to suggest that I "offload" some of my Head duties to the "stupid git" who probably wasn't "pulling his weight".

I mumbled something about being able to handle Malfoy.

There is only one solution to forget the whole thing even happened.

Get it out of my system, and allow my life to go on. Forget the rules and status quo of the last six years. If I can't deal with it now, it will only get worse.

Defiance will only lead to self-destruction, and all that.

The truth of the matter is that it's Mafoy's indifference that grates on my nerves. For the Head boy, and Head sleaze of the school body, a kiss is like putting your lips to a glass. He's done it countless times, each time better than the last I'm sure, and life goes on.

Well, my life can't go on.

I head to the Great Hall as dinner is about to be served. The Gryffindor table is full tonight; everyone's hungry, flailing their arms about in animated gestures of excitement. I squash myself in between Ginny and Neville, loosening my tie and undoing the top button.

"Hey Hermione, busy day?" Neville prompts, pouring pumpkin juice into my glass.

I pick it up and nod, "It's been a bit of train wreck," I sigh before taking a sip. "A group of third year girls stumbled across Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. She scared the living daylights out of them."

Neville gives me an apologetic smile. "Don't know how you do it. Top of the class, Head girl, _and_ newly appointed Counsellor."

I laugh wearily. He forgot obsessive.

"Well, I'm sure my advice was memorable," I reply. It wasn't my fault I was in a mood to berate them for teasing Moaning Myrtle, who would not have retaliated by drenching them with toilet water.

I blame it on the Head boy. He had stopped me in the hallway prior to the incident to "advise", as he put it, that he could not patrol this evening as he had scheduled a Slytherin gathering. I had scoffed and stomped off but, not before chancing a glance at his lips.

Blame it on _my_ inner sleaziness.

I suddenly feel an elbow to my ribs and almost choke on my juice. "Ginny! Watch it!" I chide in between life saving coughs.

"Oh, sorry Hermione, I was just looking for my lip gloss, I'm sure I put it in my pocket earlier," she replies distractedly. I frown, rubbing the tender spot of contact, noticing her flustered state. Who knew that one hour without lip gloss could trigger anxiety?

I roll my eyes. She looks up in time to see it. "Hey, my lip gloss habit is nowhere near as obsessive as your study habits," she reminds me.

I lift my hands up in defence, "I never said anything!"

"You were thinking it," she smiles while searching her other pockets. "Ah, found it!" she exclaims with excitement.

I wish I could get excited by flavoured goo. She starts to apply it with trained precision. I glance at Harry opposite me, he's staring; fixated on Ginny's actions. I look back at her, wondering if she's noticed.

She has that glint in her eye.

She most certainly has.

This leaves me somewhat stunned. Harry, the same Harry that produced a full Patronus in third year, is hypnotised by the simple act of a girl applying lip gloss. Of course, it's not just _any_ girl, but the nonetheless, I am genuinely baffled by the simple things.

I glance over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy is whispering in some girl's ear as she giggles mindlessly trying to keep him interested. I can't decide whether she's playing him, or he's playing her. Whichever it is, someone's getting some action later on; setting the mood for his Slytherin _gathering._

I pick at the food on my plate in a daze.

Realisation hits.

All this time I have taken the reactive approach. Look at Ginny, proactive in making sure that Harry has his eye on her every minute of the day; the Slytherin girl pretending to be interested in what Malfoy has to say but really just wants to be seen _with_ him; and finally, that Head Boy, with his 'I control everything' superiority complex that seems to actually work for him.

The only superiority complex I've ever had is knowing that I master spells and potions twice as fast as everyone else.

Well, a whole lot of good _that's_ proved, unless I want to _Obliviate _myself.

I put my fork down and slide my plate away.

"Gin, I think I'll head up to my room. Lots to do," I say.

"What, no dessert?" she jokes, knowing that I don't have a sweet tooth.

"Come hang out later if you're free," I suggest. She nods, waving.

"See you later, Neville," I lean on his shoulder as I pull my leg over the bench to get up in a very unladylike fashion.

He's busy chatting to Seamus.

I wonder through the hallways on automaton, having done it countless times.

...

It's been two days: two long days of reaching a formal solution to my problem, and then working up the courage to implement it.

Here goes nothing.

Or, everything.

I walk out of my room, into the common area, knowing that Malfoy is there doing homework.

"Malfoy, can I've a word?"

"Busy, Granger," he states without bothering to look up.

"Well I can't have that, I need to resolve this now," I snap. He turns his gaze to me with resignation; I can see his impatience written all over his face. It's the first time I've properly looked at him since the incident and I almost turn mute.

He shakes his head and raises an eyebrow, egging me to get on with it.

I clear my throat.

"You might recall..." Wrong approach. "I have a slight dilemma," I prompt.

"What do you want me to do about it?" he sneers.

"You can start by keeping your attitude in check," I retort, annoyed. Not at him, at me, for choosing _him _as the target of my sleazy endeavours. Why couldn't it have been Neville?

He smirks.

I narrow my eyes, momentarily contemplating if it's worth it.

No, Hermione, take a stand. You've suffered enough.

"It's still not okay for me," I rely on his previous words to ease into what I'm getting at.

His scrutinising gaze is checking for signs of madness or the _Imprerius,_ as his brow furrows in confusion.

"Granger, can you get on with it? I really don't have time for this."

I study him for a moment, lying on the couch length ways with his back rested against the armrest, his potions book open, face down over his chest.

"Maybe it's just easier if I show you?" I slap my hand over my mouth as I realise I just said that out loud.

I can see now he's decided that I've gone really barmy and the simmering anger in his eyes hints at the imminent change of air if I don't act now.

I walk over to him, fiddling with my fingers as I approach.

Merlin! He made this look so easy on the train.

I lean over to lift the book off him and place it on the side table nearby. He looks genuinely baffled, and rather shocked that I had the audacity to touch his book and move it off his person.

He moves to sit up; his mouth opens to say something.

I act before it's too late.

I push him back against the arms rest, "What the –" he starts but then stops as I lift my leg over him and straddle him, my hands are still on his chest, locking him in place.

My heart is about to jump out of my throat, but I never glance away, watching his eyes give away his reeling emotions as they finally widen in surprise.

"Don't look so surprised, Malfoy," I remark definitively. "You brought this on yourself."

And with that, I lean forward and cover his lips with mine, letting them linger as I re-familiarise myself with the Head Boy's mouth, in momentary disbelief that I am actually doing this.

My eyes are still open, mind you.

So are his, those grey orbs of inquiry.

I smile against his lips, and he senses it. I can tell because his muscles under my hands have contracted as he stiffens. It is my cue that I'm in control.

I slightly tilt my head to one side and let my tongue glide over his lower lip, as I part my lips slightly. I feel his mouth respond to my action and he grants me access. I close my eyes and let it all go as I let my tongue slide into his mouth, teasing him while my lips enter into that natural motion of seeking satisfaction.

It's as if I've been granted free reign, and I have to say, it is rather bothersome that Malfoy is just lying there, his arms at his sides, his mouth open but unresponsive.

Frustration is beginning to overcome me and I act impulsively, doing the one thing that will surely trigger a response.

I slowly roll my hips into his.

His hands immediately come up and grip my sides as he inhales through his nose.

I smile again.

He knows I'm testing him.

I deepen my kiss, as I do it again.

Almost instantly, his tongue pushes against mine, driving me out and taking the reigns as he lifts away from the arm rest slightly and finally responds. His mouth becomes demanding as his tongue circles mine in that possessive way that shuts away all common sense and propriety.

And, that's when the trouble starts.

The sleaze within has finally emerged.

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A/N: I leave it to you to fill in the blanks! hehehe Being rated T and all...


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I don't know what made me do it, but I really felt like writing a third chapter to this mini story. Hermione is very OOC - blame it on crazy hormones (hers, not mine :D). This has been very fun to write and hope you're entertained by it! Story remains with a completed status and T rating, though you never know... Happy New Year to everyone! :p**

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Since that day in the common room, Malfoy has become a right bastard. His ego has quadrupled; his arrogance has escalated to unmeasurable heights; and, have I mentioned he's still a git?

I on the other hand, have become a needy bitch on heat. Therein lies the dilemma.

Malfoy knows it, and he plays on it. He flirts with me.

Yep, the prat flirts with me. Openly.

I am at my worst as I retaliate with insults, and yet, that's not how it's perceived.

He's the hero for trying out this new method of antagonism - for taking his taunting to new heights.

"Hey, Granger! I need your fine eyes to run over this roster after class," he calls out from across the room in Charms.

Everyone laughs.

"Malfoy, you can take your roster and shove it where the sun doesn't shine! It's a day late. I've already done it," I snap.

"Don't be mad, Granger. I'll make it up to you after class."

More chuckles ensue.

I shoot him a hateful glare, but he just winks and flings his arm around Pansy. I can't tell whether they're still an item – last week she was lip locked with Theodore Nott in the quadrangle. How did I let this happen? I turn away, thinking of all the things I want to do to him.

They're not hexes.

That's not to say I have gone all the way with him. I'm not _into_ him enough to go there. I just want to play. I look down at my parchment where I have scribbled the word, smiling at the novel association I've attributed to its otherwise innocent definition. I can't help it.

Truth be told, that day in the common room has not been the only time I've found myself in a blind moment of lustful interaction with the git. He normally means it when he says he will make it up to me after class. Except that it's my turn to seek him out. We work on an unspoken rotating roster – he seeks me out; I seek him out. Except that it's my turn and I haven't, because the arrogant arse has still somehow managed to keep the upper hand and I am taking a stand.

The irony of it permeates around me knowingly, but I refuse to cave.

And, now, my grades are slipping again and I am thoroughly on edge.

It's only been a few weeks.

I shift in my seat to regain focus however, my brain has other ideas. My mind wanders back to the day I had started it all – given him another reason to act like a Head Boy with a big head. If I'd considered the implications, rather than the fear of acting to appease my selfish needs, I would have talked myself out of it.

...

Class ends and I walk down the corridor toward Transfiguration, bypassing the main walkway to avoid the ratty little first years that bombard me with questions. I am generally willing to answer them, but today I'm feeling rather like a neurotic mess with no outlet for my frustration, other than Ginny's lip gloss currently in my pocket.

I picked it up after breakfast. She had left it behind after Harry had offered to walk her to class. I chuckle at the thought of the poor tube of goo being a means to an end.

I make it to the classroom first – a hard habit to break despite all my efforts – and sit at a desk in the middle of the classroom, near the window, where the sun's intrusion is most prominent. It is my favourite class, next to Arithmancy, however, sunny days are slowly dying and I am craving the sun on my face. I sit down and close my eyes, sighing as its bright warmth radiates on my skin.

Suddenly, like the timing of Peeves, I feel my head being pulled back, as someone grabs my hair, and I jerk my eyes open in shock only to find Malfoy staring down at me.

"Hello, Granger," he greets, his lips twisting with mischief. He's grasping my hair in the same way he has done when he's cornered me for a weekly 'catch up'.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing!" I grit my teeth to control my urge to hex him squarely between the eyes and lift my arm to grab my hair out of his hold.

He doesn't fight me and loosens his fingers, letting them comb through a little before his hand falls away. He has a habit of invading my personal space since I let him into it, even when it's not encouraged. "You're not following the rules, Granger," he says, standing straight.

"Sod off, Malfoy." I massage my head of hair that suffered from his territorial grab.

He promptly sits at the desk next to me. A couple of people walk in, but he isn't deterred. He ignores them; in fact, they ignore us. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Don't tell me you're having regrets, Granger? Where is the Gryffindor spirit that drove you to straddle me?" he questions in that Slytherin way that makes me want to puke.

"Ugh! Malfoy, your ego is _driving_ me to want to dry retch," I retort.

He chuckles at me. "Don't kid yourself, Granger. All I did was kiss you that day on the train to get your mind out of the gutter, and instead, you crumbled. Not my fault you want me." He shrugs and sits up as more people file into the room.

I roll my eyes. "You're so full of yourself it's like a cold shower. Guess I won't be requiring your _services_ anymore," I dismiss. Secretly, I love talking to him in this way. It's like a newly earned right to berate him with innuendo.

He outright laughs. "You're on, Granger. Let's see how long you last. Merlin knows you won't get it elsewhere."

"I am not betting with you, Malfoy," I snap.

"Suit yourself. You know where to find me," he states, sending me a quick look of indifference.

His complacency is driving me insane. "I am _not_ going to seek you out!" The prat won't get it though his thick skull! For a moment, I wish he was his dismissive old self, ignoring me completely except when Head duties warrant his reluctant cooperation.

"Well, I guess it's game over for you, Granger. Obviously, I was just happy to cop a feel, like the next guy."

I inhale slowly, infuriated by his assumptions rather than his pathetic attempt to try and label me as being easy. That's when I decide to make a point of driving him to instigate our next play time.

He turns to find out why I have not yet hit him with a biting reply and eyes me curiously.

I pull out Ginny's lip gloss and promptly start applying it; slowly, methodically, all the while watching him watching me. "Whatever makes you sleep at night, Malfoy," I reply with insincere pleasantness, snapping my lips together to even out the goo before releasing them.

He narrows his eyes and turns away.

I smile to myself.

Game on.

* * *

"Are you wearing my lip gloss?" Ginny asks at dinner.

I'm surprised it has lasted this long and slip my tongue out to check. "Yeah, my lips felt dry. You left it behind this morning - no point having it go unused for a day. It might feel unwanted," I joke.

She looks at me like I'm some stranger.

"I hope you don't mind," I add hurriedly, sitting down next to her.

"No, I don't mind. Keep it actually. I've opened a new one."

Harry walks over and sits next to her.

I realise Ginny's job is done – she has secured his full attention.

"Hey, Hermione," he greets, "Ron got hit with the bludger at practice this morning. He's in the Infirmary."

"_What?_" I can't believe I am yet to hear this news. I have been in my own little world lately. "Is he okay?" I ask, shooting a look of, 'why didn't you tell me?' at Ginny.

She shrugs. "Nothing serious. 'Bit of Skelogro and he'll be good as new," she offers.

"Broken bones? How is that _not _serious," I ask.

"You looked kind of preoccupied this morning, so I didn't want to bother you about it."

I purse my lips, frowning.

"He's fine, Hermione. If you go visit him, he'll love it," Harry reassures.

My frown deepens. "I am not preoccupied. I have a lot on, but I'm not preoccupied."

Ginny raises her eyebrows at my repetition and lack of original word choice. "You walked straight past me in the hallway before."

"Huh? When?" I am about to give myself premature crease lines if I keep up with this level of brow knitting. I make a conscious effort to relax my face.

"Exactly. Seriously, don't worry about it." Ginny assures. "Heard Malfoy's been giving you hell."

What a way to segue off topic. The name, 'Malfoy', instantly puts me on edge and any concerned thoughts for my friend in the Infirmary fly out of the Great Hall like hungry ghosts on a mission.

"Nothing unusual." I brandish my hand to dismiss the matter altogether.

"Yeah, Seamus tells me he's calling you 'brown eyes' these days instead of- well, you know," Harry says.

"He's just playing," I let slip.

Ginny and Harry stare at me like I've just grown a wart on my nose.

"As in, he's trying to wound me up," I explain quickly, avoiding eye contact. I blame it on my edginess, and the fact that I just spent and hour with Professor McGonagall discussing appropriate point deductions. It's all Malfoy's fault - I caught him snogging some sixth year Ravenclaw blonde and then proceeded to take points from the next six Ravenclaws who crossed my path.

"If you ask me, he's got a crush." Ginny says.

The three of us simultaneously turn our heads toward the Slytherin table and, low and behold, Malfoy is pulling Pansy onto his lap.

Stupid git.

"Perhaps, not," Harry says. "Not that you would want him to," he adds.

"Merlin, no!" I reply, unable to fathom anything worse.

My sleazy endeavours are purely on a needs only basis. I dig into my dinner, hoping my plan will work. Images of me turning into a crazy banshee are starting to haunt me.

* * *

The process is gradual and I am starting to crack under the heat. Professor Vector sends me a questioning glance as she hands back my latest assignment. There, in bold writing is my first 'E'. I mutter something about dropping one of my runes which may have affected its natural charge. All lies, of course.

I smooth my hand over my untamed hair in exasperation. I want to rush out of the room, hunt Malfoy down and berate him for purposely disrupting me in the library last week. He had snuck up behind me and started massaging my shoulders while I was finishing my assignment. I had sent him away with a stream of retaliating insults, but he still managed to throw me off my final rune calculations.

He is trying everything to make me submit – his primary mode: to touch me inappropriately whenever he gets the chance. I realise, my poor attempts at lip gloss use and constant presence around him are getting _me_ worked up. Not him.

...

"Ginny, I need your advice," I say, cringing slightly at the path I am about to take.

She sits on my bed in my dorm room. "About what?" she scrunches up her nose, confused as to why I would ask _her_ for advice.

I sigh, knowing I am about to open the floodgates to her serial questioning. "How did you- you know, get Harry to pay more attention to you?" I ask, trying to hide the pathetic desperation I'm feeling.

She regards me silently, leaning back against my pillows. "You want guy advice," she surmises.

"Mmm, pretty much." I shrug nonchalantly. There's no point trying to cloud the truth. I pull my school jumper off and undo my tie as a distraction from the conversation we're about to have. Need to feel comfortable, and all.

"Someone you like?" she asks; her excitement evident.

"Not quite." I untuck my shirt from my skirt and the sudden freedom to move makes me relax slightly. I think of the best way to put how I feel about Malfoy. "More like, I want this person to want to go after me," I reply.

"You must like them to want that," she states.

It seems too difficult to push past this 'like' issue. "No, I definitely don't like him." I sit on the edge of my bed. "It's complicated," I add.

"Hermione, why would you go to all the effort if you don't like him? It makes no sense!" She sits up, looking at me questioningly.

I sigh at her rationale. "Well, just give me some general tips then. What should I do to improve my-" I pause, thinking of the right words, "-my appeal to the opposite sex?"

Her expression softens and she suddenly appears to have this 'all knowing' demeanour. "You just need to change how people look at you. There's only one way to do it – persistence." Ginny gets up off the bed and comes around to face me, staring closely at me.

"What are you doing?" I lean back slightly to escape her scrutiny.

"Just checking," she replies, like it's a common exercise one undergoes at times like these.

"Checking what?" I ask worriedly. I am having a moment of insecurity. Is she seeing something that the rest of the school body has noticed, but I haven't? I know I'm not 'girly' enough, according to the wise words of the Slytherin King, but next to Pansy and the other princesses, I would never come close.

She smiles. "Nope, nothing. You are actually very pretty, you know, once I look past the hair." She lifts it up and pulls it away from my face.

"Ouch!" What is with people grabbing my hair lately? "Careful!"

A thoughtful expression crosses her face. "It's your attitude," she says finally.

"What!" Now I have the personality to match my untamed hair? Why did I even bother asking?

"You have this air of authority that people can't look past. No guy will come close to asking you out if they are threatened by you."

Wrong. Malfoy is definitely _not_ threatened by me. "I don't know," I say slowly. Besides, I don't want Malfoy to ask me out. I just want him to surrender.

"You need to be sweet, and playful. You know, charming. Show off your features a little – you don't just apply lip gloss; you _apply_ yourself to applying it."

My head is spinning with confusion. Too many applications needed. "So basically, I turn into a brainless flirt?"

"Nothing is more calculated than the science of flirting, Hermione." Her all knowing look tells me she's had practice. "People on the receiving end of the best flirts don't even realise it happening,"

"Hmmm, I dunno, it seems so foreign." I think back to the day in the classroom with Malfoy, where I really exaggerated my actions. "I am too conscious of doing it."

"Don't let it deter you. I wouldn't touch Arithmancy with a ten foot wand, but that's because I really can't do it, not because I haven't tried. Everyone flirts in different ways. You probably do it without even realising yourself. I mean, look at you and Malfoy –

I gulp at her mention of him, hoping she has not cottoned on to the fact that he is my target.

"- you have this banter that screams flirting, and yet you both hate each other. That's kind of the exception – when you mean it."

I slump my shoulders in defeat. There really is no hope.

* * *

I don't know how it happened, but I've become an addict. Yes, Hermione Granger is a lip gloss addict – if that's even possible. The act of applying is almost therapeutic. It's like an outlet for my edginess; the fact that I haven't had any action since it was Malfoy's turn to seek me out being the key cause.

I shake my head at my predicament and pull out the lip gloss I now carry everywhere. I concentrate on spreading an even layer across my bottom lip before moving to my top lip – gliding the tip across the contour of my mouth as I squeeze the container. I am so engrossed in my actions that I fail to notice Malfoy staring at me from across the hall. I finish the task at hand and put the cap on the end before looking up to catch his gaze.

He is watching me like a hawk. I promptly look away without reservation and move to tie my hair up to get it out of my face before Potions. My eyes slide back to where he's sitting as I collect my hair into my hands. He's still staring, almost fixated on me. I don't know what to make of it until Ginny's words ring in my ear and I hold his gaze. I playfully move it high on my head, smoothing one hand, then the other, over it as I shift it into place. I bring the tie around it and secure it in place, and then, I do the most uncharacteristic thing ever. I smile at him.

Hermione Granger smiles at Draco Malfoy.

And, he looks like a ghost has passed though him. It's almost funny.

However, I restrain myself and promptly stand up, but not before stealing one last glance, and make my way out of the great hall toward Potions.

I feel strangely...liberated.

...

During potions, Ron hits me with the daily exclusive. "You look different," he says.

"It's my hair," I reply, "- tied it back today to avoid it being singed."

"Oh, yeah," he says, but he doesn't sound convinced.

I am chatty, and smiley, and even walk over to help Neville without him asking. I don't know why I'm in such a sparky mood. The therapy of lip gloss application has cleared my mind, perhaps?

Ron steals glances at me every now and then as he stirs the cauldron from the opposite end of our work bench. "No, it's not that," he suddenly pipes.

"Not what?" I ask, reaching for the next ingredient.

"It's not your hair." But he says nothing more to elaborate and I don't push the matter.

...

Neville comes over to my bench, as I am packing up, at the end of the class. "Thanks for helping me out today, Hermione," he says.

I am slightly surprised by his gratitude, since I hadn't done anything out of the ordinary.

Is he...blushing?

I smile. "It's nothing, Neville."

Ron is still looking at me funny.

I send him a questioning glance. "Is there something on my face?"

He laughs and shakes his head.

I am left in the dark on that one as we walk out of the classroom together.

...

However, it's Blaise Zabini that throws me right off centre the next afternoon in Herbology. He is stationed next to me and hasn't directed a word at me all year.

I am struggling to pull at the mandrake plant for the annual harvest and somehow manage to get dirt all over me.

He laughs. I glare at him to shut it and, as he catches my eye, he says, "You've got dirt on your face."

I almost pale, slightly taken aback by his observation. Not only has he noticed, he's told me about it - like a friend who makes it known when food is stuck in one's teeth. I reach up and try to rub at my cheek where I think it's got to.

He laughs even more and shakes his head. "No, it's on the other side."

"Where exactly on the other side?" I huff in irritation - the stupid mandrake is shifting about it my other gloved hand - while I desperately rub my free one on the other cheek.

"You've made it worse."

"Well, do you mind?" I lean forward without thinking so that he can reach over and help my cause.

It's his turn to act surprised. He freezes for a second, all startled. Surely enough, however, he brings a hand up and wipes his thumb on my cheek, near my jaw line. I realise it's the first time we've ever touched and I suddenly feel all warm inside at the new development.

"Thanks," I mutter, smiling.

His lips twitch but he doesn't smile back – he just looks at me and nods.

Blaise Zabini touched my face. I still can't get over it as I dump the mandrake into the new pot.

...

The trend of attention and strange looks continues and I am caught off guard on the way to the Charms classroom later that week.

"Hey! Brown eyes!"

I reluctantly look behind me. He's walking alone.

"Did you leave Pansy in her cage today, Malfoy?" I start.

His mouth twitches and he raises an eyebrow. "Why all the concern about how I treat my pets, Granger?" he retorts, stopping a few feet from me.

I'm momentarily surprised he's going along with my sarcasm, but then continue walking.

He follows alongside.

"How will you get through the class with no one to giggle and throw themselves at you?"

"Hmmm, you've noticed."

"_Everyone_ notices." I roll my eyes. He is yet to throw a disparaging remark at me and I send him an appraising glance.

"I'm seeking more subtle company," he says.

"Am sure Nott can help." I have a feeling he bats for both teams and has a habit of quietly, yet openly, ogling his latest interest.

"Not quite what I had in mind." He grabs my arm to stop me in my tracks. "You know, I'm beginning to think you're developing a penchant for being a cock tease, Granger."

My eyes widen at his term of reference. Me? "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He lets go of me and walks ahead, leaving me standing in the corridor like I've just been _stupefied_.

* * *

It's our monthly meet, and Malfoy is sitting on the floor, his legs spread out in front of him and his back leaning against the couch. I am sitting on it at the other end. We are both focused on checking off our obligations so that we can get on with the weekend. He has this calculated distance about him that is putting me on edge.

"Do you have any names to add to the detention list for the Heads of House?" I ask.

"Yeah," he shuffles though his pile of parchment next to him and hands me a foot long piece without looking at me.

I roll my eyes and take it. For a moment I think I'm seeing things. "Why is my name on this list?" I ask in disbelief.

"For failing to follow rules, Granger."

For a moment I am taking his claim at face value, and then my slow brain kicks in. "You're kidding right?"

He turns to me. "No jokes, Granger."

I let out a light laugh at the situation. "Oh, that's rich."

"You need to be punished." He's trying to keep a straight face but I can see the amusement building in his eyes as I hold his gaze.

My lips curl. "Can't you think of something more original?" I move to cross my name out and my eyes widen and mouth slackens as I catch the name under it. "Why are _you_ on this list?" I ask, trying to act as unfazed as possible.

"For the same reason."

I exhale with impatience. "What rules have _you _broken, Malfoy?" I ask, going along with his little ruse.

"None...yet."

"The list is retrospective. Can you be a little more serious about it –" I cross his name off as well – "I want to get through our checklist _before_ the Hogsmeade trip."

That's when he turns his body toward me, leaning an arm on the seat of the couch.

"You're going to Hogsmeade?" He gives me one of his remarkable looks of distaste; it riles me straight into offensive mode.

"What of it?"

"Granger, no seventh year with half a brain goes to Hogsmeade these days. You want to go to Zonko's and drink butterbeer with the third years?" he mocks.

"Not everyone wants to have a romp over Firewhisky, Malfoy," I reply, scrunching my face in disgust.

"You wouldn't dare, Granger. You're all steam." His frankness is really getting to me.

I move the parchment resting on my lap to one side. "What's that supposed to mean?" I lean forward, ready to leave this discussion.

"You want me to break the rules, Granger? You wouldn't be able to handle it," he says in casual indifference.

I stand up. "Why don't you try me, Malfoy," and walk out of the room, all angry. The prat led me straight into the firing line. I've just given him free reign - his overarching upper hand continues.

* * *

"Ginny, I've set myself up for disaster," I tell her while we're at Madame Rosmarta's. I take a gulp of the sweet drink and relish the aftertaste that makes me forget everything just for a moment.

"What do you mean? Even Ron is looking twice at you these days."

I shut my eyes and press the bridge of my nose not wishing to discuss the sudden interests of my male friends.

"Yes. Well, it has backfired."

She is trying to be sympathetic, yet I can tell she is more amused than anything. "How?"

"Because. The one person I've wanted to make a move hasn't of his own will." Stupid Malfoy, setting me up to grant him permission - it's as good as me jumping him in the hallway. "He says, I'm all steam."

Ginny laughs. "He's messing with your head, Hermione. _Who_ _is_ this guy, anyway? He's definitely not a Gryffindor, is he?"

I refrain from the urge to call him something really vulgar and choose my words carefully. "He's a prat, is what he is!" I reply and knock back the rest of my drink, wishing to forget everything.

"He's definitely got to you. I would forget him if I were you." She sips her drink and shakes her head, "he's not worth it."

I nod knowingly, but this is an exception to the general rule. Malfoy, and my obsession with him, is clearly irrational and driven by hormones. "As soon as I win, he will be forgotten," I reply, more for my own reassurance.

She tilts her head to one side. "Sounds like you're all wound up by a bad boy. It happens to the best of us." She smiles, her pity obvious. "Try not to let him call the shots."

She's hit the nail on the head and I didn't even mention it.

My quiet time in the library at the end of a long week is savoured like hot chocolate and a warm fire in the winter. I close my books, having checked off my 'to do' list for the week, and sigh, leaning back in my chair. The lamps around me flicker and I look out at the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of the moonlight through the nearby window.

'Ginny's right,' I muse. I need to call the shots. I collect my things and head back to my room.

It's all about the timing of it - it's all I have left.

* * *

The next week brings with it a new found confidence that inadvertently seems to take my flirting to new heights. My personal best moment is in Charms. Malfoy sneaks in late and is forced to sit next to me. I have planned it this way, of course, by sitting in the very front seat that everyone avoids.

"Brown eyes," he prompts, sliding in on the bench next to me.

"Draco," I reply.

He double takes, as if his second glance will confirm he's heard correctly. I raise an eyebrow challengingly at my novel use of his name and promptly return to scrawling my notes hurriedly.

I ignore him for at least half the class until he inches closer all of a sudden and I am caught off guard.

His body heat is grazing my skin and I swallow at the simmering thoughts of our former playtimes.

He slides a piece of parchment across to me. _'You realise you can't leave your seat until I do?' _

I stare at his cursive script for a moment with narrowed eyes as I think of a response.

_'I can always climb over the desk,'_ I write, sliding the parchment across. I can't see his reaction but I can certainly hear it.

He almost chokes as he coughs into his hand.

My eyes return to the front of the room and the class continues as normal, my quill scratching away notes while he is formulating his reply.

He slides the parchment back toward me._ 'Then you are not concerned about flashing what's underneath that skirt of yours?' _

I roll my eyes at the expected response. _'Necessity overrules propriety,' _I scribble.

It pretty much sums up my state of mind right now.

I hear him inhale and he turns his head to me, hunched over so that his hair is shielding his eyes, but I catch that irreverent smirk. His head is in the gutter.

I can't help but feel somewhat responsible.

...

We both remain seated as the classroom clears out. Professor Flitwick walks over and asks if we have any questions and we shake our heads, and I say, 'no, we are just taking a moment to discuss head duties'. The Professor nods and scurries out of the room, shutting the door behind with a definitive 'click'.

I can hear Malfoy breathing as I close my books and pack away my quills and ink.

"Well, Granger," he prompts, "I'd like to see you live up to your claims." He tweaks an eyebrow challengingly as he turns to look at me.

"I suppose I should, Malfoy." I reply, feigning resignation. I lift my feet onto the bench away from him so that I'm leaning toward him, my shoulder brushing his lightly as I shift so that I sit up on my knees and face him. I place a hand on the desk for leverage and proceed to lift one leg over Malfoy, so that I am straddling him in his seated position.

Yes, I don't know why, but I seem to work myself up to a habit of straddling Malfoy when he least expects it. My hands come up to grip his shoulders as I centre myself and sit against his thighs, but only for a moment.

He growls.

I look up at him and shrug innocently. "I save myself the embarrassment this way," I almost whisper, leaning forward so that I rub against him as I move off him; off the bench; and onto the stone floor. I smooth down my skirt as I straighten up and shoot him a testing smile.

Now he looks like _he's_ been _stupefied_.

I walk around to the front of the desk to collect my books, trying so hard not to let my nerves show.

Malfoy slides his hand closest to me across the table in an eye blink, curling his fingers around my wrist and forcing me to loosen my grip on my things. I try to jerk my hand away haphazardly, but it won't budge - his hold is too tight.

He pulls me forward with an unexpected force, sitting up and leaning over the desk toward me.

"I think it's time to earn my detention, Granger," he says in a low voice.

His eyes are dark and magnificent and I can't help my internal cheer of victory.

* * *

AN: Ah, giddy delights!


End file.
